rest."

Her eyes closed and her head sank. It was gone, as he said, and she
knew what it had been--a mere vision called up by her own over-tortured
brain. Keyork Arabian had a name for it.

Frightened by your own nerves, laughed the voice, when, if you had not
been a coward, you might have faced it down and lied again, and all
would have been well. But you shall have another chance, and lying is
very easy, even when the nerves are over-wrought. You will do better the
next time.

The voice was like Keyork Arabian's. Unstrung, almost forgetting all,
she wondered vaguely at the sound, for it was a real sound and a real
voice to her. Was her soul his, indeed, and was he drawing it on slowly,
surely to the end? Had he been behind her last night? Had he left an
hour's liberty only to come back again and take at last what was his?

There is time yet, you have not lost him, for he thinks you mad. The
voice spoke once more.

And at the same moment the strong dear arms were again around her, again
her head was on that restful shoulder of his, again her pale face was
turned up to his, and kisses were raining on her tired eyes, while
broken words of love and tenderness made music through the tempest.

Again the vast temptation rose. How could he ever know? Who was to
undeceive him, if he was not yet undeceived? Who should ever make him
understand the truth so long as the spell lasted? Why not then take what
was given her, and when the end came, if it came, then tell all boldly?
Even then, he would not understand. Had he understood last night, when
she had confessed all that she had done before? He had not believed one
word of it, except that she loved him. Could she make him believe it
now, when he was clasping her so fiercely to his breast, half mad with
love for her himself?

So easy, too. She had but to forget that passing vision, to put her arms
about his neck, to give kiss for kiss, and loving word for loving word.
Not even that. She had but to lie there, passive, silent if she could
not speak, and it would be still the same. No power on earth could undo
what she had done, unless she willed it. Neither man nor woman could
make his clasping hands let go of her and give her up.

Be still and wait, whispered the voice, you have lost nothing yet.

But Unorna would not. She had spoken and acted her last lie. It was
over.

CHAPTER XXVII

Unorna struggled for a moment. The Wanderer did not understand, but
loosed hi